


Hollows Round His Eager Eyes

by aliensinflowercrowns



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Martin doesn't work at the Magnus Institute, Statement Fic, canon typical bastardness from elias, canon typical spiders, martin blackwood: proud monsterfucker, slight arson, yet he still gets a spooky boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 14:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20176123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensinflowercrowns/pseuds/aliensinflowercrowns
Summary: Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding his relationship with the entity formerly known as Jonathan Sims. Statement forcibly taken directly from subject by Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute.





	Hollows Round His Eager Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> idk where the idea for this came from but here it is
> 
> EDIT: There's now a PODFIC!!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215297 check it out it's fantastic!!

**RECORDER CLICKS ON.**

“Eh… eugh… wh–where the hell am I? Who the hell are you?”

“Mr. Blackwood. Hello.” 

“Who are you? How do you know who I am?  _ Where _ am I?” 

**SOUND OF SHUFFLING. **

“Oh my god– is this– did you– did you tie me up? What kind of sadistic–”

“You’re in the Magnus Institute, Mr. Blackwood. I trust that… orients you a bit.” 

“The Magnus Institute? So that means–Jon!  _ Jon! _ ”

“He can’t hear you, Mr. Blackwood. I’m not that stupid.” 

“Wait. So if this is the Institute, then you’re… you’re his boss, aren’t you? Elias.” 

“Yes.”

**SOUND OF LAUGHTER. **

“Oh. He… he  _ hates _ you. Did you know that? Complains about you all the time.” 

“Mm. I am aware of his feelings towards me, unideal as they are.” 

“Why am I here?” 

“Well. Mr. Blackwood. You didn’t think that this… little tryst of yours would go unnoticed, did you? Give me some credit. You’re here to give your statement.” 

“My– what?” 

“Your statement. Surely Jon has told you–”

“I know what they are. But there’s no way in hell I’m giving you one.” 

“Your consent is not strictly necessary, Mr. Blackwood.” 

“W-wait, no, you’re not going to–”

“Give me a moment, I’m a little out of practice.”

“No, no, wait–”

“Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding his relationship with the entity formally known as Jonathan Sims. Statement forcibly taken directly from subject by Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute. Statement begins.” 

**A BEAT OF SILENCE. A SHUDDERING BREATH. AND THEN,**

“We met in a coffee shop. My coffee shop. I called it  _ Charlotte’s _ , after  _ Charlotte’s Web _ , my favorite book. Strange reasoning, I suppose, as  _ Charlotte’s Web _ doesn’t have anything to do with coffee, but I know no one is going to go to a cafe called  _ Martin’s _ . It just doesn’t have the same ring, you know? And I suppose I thought that Charlotte, uh, the spider, might have liked to own a coffee shop, which sounds a little daft when I say it out loud, I suppose. 

“Anyway. I had never pictured myself owning a coffee shop. Er, that’s not right. I had pictured it a lot, but I had never thought it would actually happen. But then my mum died, which was tragic, of course, but it turned out she had quite a bit of money in her life insurance policy, and after I sold our old house… well. I thought why not. Carpe diem, and all that.

“It was great. I enjoyed making drinks and coming up with new recipes. I would give them pun names, like  _ Oscar Wildeberry Tea _ or  _ Mocha-beth _ . The puns were a little shit, but the drinks were good. And I liked talking to people. I have a knack for remembering people’s drink orders, which got me a good batch of regulars. 

“But. Jon. That’s the point of this. I guess in a way it felt like we were always meant to meet. That sounds cheesy, but I’m serious. I ran into him like… three times over the years, before we actually started talking. I remember the first words he spoke to me  _ exactly _ . 

“‘What the hell is a  _ Twelfth Night Special? _ ’

**SOUND OF LAUGHTER. **

“Here comes in this man who looks… absolutely haggard, like he hasn’t slept since Y2K, and he’s glaring at me over his dorky little wire glasses. I had just opened up like, a few weeks ago, this was… erm… mid-2015? Maybe a little earlier? I’m good with faces, not so much dates, heh. I tell him: ‘Well it’s got so many shots of espresso in it it’ll keep you up for twelve nights.’

“‘That’s not what the play is about,’ he says. Completely deadpan. Before I can respond and tell him I know that’s not what the play is about, it’s just a joke, he asks me how many shots of espresso is it exactly. I tell him six. He asks me to double it. 

“‘What?’ I asked him, flabbergasted. Most people laugh after I tell them about the six shots and then order something else. Honestly, the only people who actually order the  _ Twelfth Night _ are exhausted Ph.D. students, and while this guy strikes me as the academic type, I don’t know if I can legally give him twelve shots of espresso. He tells me he just started a new job and that twelve nights of work probably wouldn’t put a dent in everything he needs to do. I’m a little terrified at this point, so I make him the drink and tell him good luck. Only after he’s paid–and given me a tenner as a tip, which was nice–do I realize I forgot to ask his name. 

“Fast forward to a little over a year later. It’s like… half past midnight and I’m in the shop. Not because it’s open, but because I can’t sleep. I was living in a real shithole apartment at the time and I have insomnia anyway, and  _ Charlotte’s _ always felt more like home, anyway. I definitely spend more time there. So when I couldn’t sleep I would go there and make myself a drink, something with lots of sugar and chocolate, and I would either read or write poetry. The point is, the door was unlocked, but the shop wasn’t open. Obviously. It’s the middle of the night. But that doesn’t stop Jon. He walks in, significantly more scarred than the last time I’d seen him, and he’s… shaking. I was gonna tell him we were closed and he had to leave, but he looked so shaken up. So lost. So I made him tea. No sugar, just milk. I don’t know how I knew his order. Lucky guess, I suppose. He sat down and I gave him the tea. Didn’t say anything. He stayed there for a half-hour, staring out the window, drinking the tea. Then he gave me a hundred pounds and left. 

“About six months later, this cop comes in and shows me a picture of him. This time I finally get his name. ‘Have you seen this man?’ she asks. I tell her he came in for coffee once. I don’t mention the night and the tea. She tells me his name is Jonathan Sims, he’s wanted for murder, and he works in this area, so if I see him around I should call the police. I gave her a free scone and she left. I didn’t actually see Jon until… er… five months ago? By this point, the cafe is a lot more successful. I’m still on the floor a lot, but not as much as I’d like to be. I don’t meet every new customer, and I’ve hired on two employees. So I didn’t realize that’d he’d been coming in until I started getting complaints. Three separate customers had come to me complaining about some guy who had been hanging around, being creepy. They said he asked them a bunch of personal questions. They told me he gave them nightmares. I wasn’t sure what they wanted me to do about it, and none of them really wanted to be specific, which I understand now but at the time it was just sort of frustrating. 

“They all gave me a vague, but consistent description, and I started keeping an eye out. It took about a week before I saw him. He came in, looking ragged and half dead, covered in scars, but definitely the same guy. Jonathan Sims. He ordered a  _ Ristretto and Guildenstern are Dead _ and then sat in the corner booth, just sort of staring, for like three hours. He didn’t drink any of his coffee. I kept an eye on him the whole time, and was going to dismiss him as just sort of odd when I glanced at him again and saw him talking to some woman, this look on his face like… like the cat that caught the canary. The woman looked paralyzed. I knew I had to intervene, so I just sort of swanned over and said: ‘Are you harassing my customers, Mr. Sims?’

“The woman immediately bolted, and Jon furrowed his brows and asked me how I knew his name. 

“‘Oh, the usual way,’ I said. ‘Cops came in here last year saying you were wanted for murder and asking if I’d seen you around. I assume that’s all cleared up?’

“‘Yes, quite,’ he said. ‘It was a misunderstanding.’

“‘We’ve all been there.’ 

“I sat down after that and we… talked. Like, normal, you know? I completely lost track of time. He clearly needed someone to talk to, and with my business and everything… I had a lot of people who I was friendly with, but not many friends. We would’ve talked all night, but one of my employees, Laura, came over told me that it was closing time. I was so embarrassed, and so was Jon. He was all blushy and posh and ‘oh I should really get back to work I’ve been gone so long they’re all going to think something finally killed me’ and all that. I was… well. I was smitten. Laura and Eddie teased me mercilessly as we closed up shop. I kept brushing it off, but I was hoping he would come in again. 

“And he did! He started coming in almost every day, at around the same time. His lunch break, I assumed. He would get something different every day, he told me he always picked whatever was ‘the worst pun.’

“‘Excuse you,’ I said. ‘All of my puns are wonderful.’ 

“It was good. At one point I said something like ‘I wish you would come along later in the day, cause I barely get to talk to you during the lunch rush.’ I was convinced it was too forward and that I would never see him again, but that same day he came round at four o’clock exactly. Laura was manning the till and so I got a booth with him and we talked until closing. I think he was just grateful to have someone who didn’t look at him like he was a monster. 

“He was cagey, at first. Didn’t like to talk about his life much. We mostly talked about me, or we talked about books. And about poetry. And plays. I tried to talk to him about television at one point, but he said the only show he really watched was Animal Planet. It was unexpected and yet made total sense. We went on like that for two weeks or so before I finally asked him out. He seemed blindsided, like he hadn’t seen it coming at all. I was worried that I had misread the signs and that he was going to tell me he wasn’t into guys, or that he was into guys but wasn’t into me, but he said yes. I think he was as surprised as I was, at that point. 

“We got Italian on our first date. This little hole in the wall place that I knew. It was romantic and quiet and not a lot of people were there, which I think Jon preferred. He insisted on paying, told me he didn’t get out much and I had asked him and picked out the place so it was only fair. We split a tiramisu and he walked me home. I kissed him on the street outside my apartment. His lips were soft and tender and he tasted like metal. 

“I dreamed about him a lot. I used to think that it was because I was falling in love, and I still think that’s part of it, but now I also think he might have been watching me. Which is kind of creepy but also a little romantic? It’s all very young adult novel. Though Jon isn’t the stoic badass that he’d like to think he is. 

“Things took their natural progression from there, I suppose. We went on a few more dates. I took him ‘round my place. He got a little nervous when he met J. Alfred Prufrock, my pet tarantula, but I promised Jon I wouldn’t let him out while he was around and he seemed to relax a little. We did, hrm, 

**SOUND OF COUGHING.**

“We did things that adults do. Jon told me that he didn’t much like things being, uh, done to him, but he didn’t mind… it doesn’t matter. We were happy. About a month in, I started to get a bit anxious, though. I realized that I’d never been to his and that he never talked about his life, like ever. The most that I knew was that he was in a band in college and he was raised by his grandmother. I didn’t even know where he worked. I finally confronted him one night. We were at mine, watching a documentary about tree frogs when I asked him why he never talked about his life. He denied it at first, saying that he talked about his life all the time. 

“‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t know where you work, I don’t know where you live, I don’t know any of your friends, I barely know anything about you, Jon!’

“‘You know me in all the ways that are important,’ he said. 

“But that wasn’t good enough for me. Sometimes I wish it was. I think about that moment a lot. Like, if I could go back in time, I would have just said: ‘Yeah, you’re right. I love you,’ and went back to watching the movie. But I didn’t. 

“‘Are you married?’ I asked him. ‘Or in a relationship with someone else. Are you cheating on someone with me? Do you have a kid or something?’

“He looked shocked. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

“‘Then what is it?’ I asked. ‘What don’t you want me to know?’

“He gave me all sorts of non-answers. Told me that he wished he could tell me. That he was trying to keep me safe. Standard monster boyfriend stuff, I suppose. But I wouldn’t take it. People underestimate me a lot, they think they can walk all over me ‘cause I’m polite, but I can be stubborn shit if I want to. So I gave Jon an ultimatum. Kind of an asshole thing to do, but it’s what I did. I told him he could tell me what was going on or he could get out of my life. He looked at me like he’d just shot his puppy. And then he left. 

“Which, okay, ow. I didn’t think he was actually going to go, but, I didn’t stop him. I just sort of sat in my flat and cried for a bit. I took Prufrock out of his enclosure and let him crawl around on me for a while, cause that’s what I did when I was upset. Weird, I know, but it’s not like I had a lot of other options. I couldn’t call my employees for comfort, that wouldn’t be professional at all. 

“I didn’t see him for a week after that. It was awful. I didn’t realize how much of my life had become centered around him until he was gone. I was ready to call him and tell him I didn’t care what secrets he had and that he didn’t have to tell me and that I just wanted him back. I was ready to give up all my principals… just for a little human connection. I guess that’s sort of the moral of this story. Martin Blackwood ruins his life for some fucking connection. Maybe it’s not ruined. Or maybe it wasn’t up until this moment. I doubt anything good will come of this little convo. 

**A SIGH. **

“Anyway. I suppose Jon was feeling almost as shitty as I was because he came in after closing one night, when he knew I would be there by myself. He looked really… guilty. He had cupcakes, store-bought ones with these little… spider rings in them. 

“‘I tried to think up a dumb pun but… I guess I just don’t have your gift,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

“And then he told me. All of it. From the book when he was a child to getting a job at the Magnus Institute to accidentally becoming an Avatar of a fear god to dying and waking up. He told me about the Leitners and Robert Smirke and Jonah Magnus and Elias Bouchard and Sasha and Tim and Melanie and Basira and Daisy and frankly, there were so many names that my head started to spin. And then he told me about the statements. About what being an ‘Avatar of the Beholding’ meant. He said he was a monster and that he understood if I was disgusted with him and I guess on some level I… I was? But I also wasn’t. Cause this was Jon. And I loved him. And none of it was really… real, yet. So I kissed him. He was crying. He tasted like mint.

“‘I love you,’ I told him, and meant it. ‘All of you. And if that makes me a monsterfucker, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.’ 

“He laughed, and we got into a lengthy debate about what constitutes being a monsterfucker. We ate the cupcakes, I made him tea, and we, yanno, adjusted. 

“But things changed, after that. Not with Jon, things were great with him. That’s the thing. This isn’t about how I… I played with forces I didn’t understand and then got destroyed. I’m not stupid. And Jon… I think I was a sort of respite for him. I was a safe place where he didn’t have to be a monster. I don’t doubt that Jon can be scary and terrible and… monstrous, but I never saw that. The Jon I knew was sweet and sarcastic and sad and tired and smart and wonderful. And I loved him. Still do. It was the other things that changed. My life outside of Jon. His life… bled into mine. There was the standard paranoia… now that I knew exactly what the things that went bump in the night were I couldn’t help but wonder. How many people that I knew had… statements. How many of my customers were secretly fear cultists in their off time? How close was I to walking into something awful? Closer than I thought, I guess. 

“Strange people started coming into my shop. First was a man called Peter, who made me feel dead inside when he brushed my fingers as I handed him his William Black Coffee. There was a woman named Annabelle a woman named Helen and a man named Mike and I don’t know what it was about them that made them stick out in my head, that made them different, but it was something. It was like, when I saw them, when I met their eyes, for a moment I was reminded that, in the grand scheme of things, I am very, very small. I don’t know. 

“And on top of that, the shop began to rapidly lose business. We were a popular little spot. Big with college kids and city hipsters. We’d even been mentioned in a few online articles about local places to check out in London. So it wasn’t like we were going to go out of business anytime soon, but the hit was noticeable. One day I asked someone who used to be a regular, a person named Naomi, why they hadn’t been lately. 

“They got this funny look on their face and said, ‘I’m sorry Martin, it’s just… the place feels a bit creepy.’

**SOUND OF SCOFFING. **

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. But I didn’t tell Jon about it. What was I supposed to say? ‘The thing that you were scared was gonna happen happened and your spooky monsterness has invaded my life and is ruining my business?’ Obviously not. Besides. I thought I could handle it. 

“So with all that, there was also the spiders. I like spiders, I’ve never been scared of them or anything, and I have Prufrock, but this was… excessive. They were everywhere. I’d find like, five a day in my flat. I would carefully trap them under a glass and take them to the little strip of grass behind my flat, but they just kept coming. They started showing up in the cafe as well, which didn’t help things on the business front. I started having to get there earlier and earlier because every time I opened up I’d find the place nearly covered in cobwebs. I wanted to mention it to Jon, cause, you know, communication is important in relationships and such, but… well. He was over at my flat one night, and we were, well, anyway. A spider crawled on the couch and over his hand and I swear to god I thought he was going to pull out of flame thrower. He killed the thing before I had time to protest, and he killed it with prejudice. And then I had to calm him down for like twenty minutes. Which I completely understood. He had a traumatic incident with spiders and all that. But still, I thought if I tried to tell him he would overreact. 

SIGH. 

“And then Jude Perry came along. This was… about two weeks ago? It was a slow day at Charlotte’s. I was alone, closing up. I had sent Eddie and Laura home after the lunch rush that day, which was good, cause we only had one customer since then. 

“Anyway. I was mopping the floor when she came in. 

“‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘We’re closed.’

“‘Oh, I know,’ she said. She smiled at me, and I felt like I was falling off of a cliff. 

“‘Cute place,’ she said. 

“‘Thanks,’

“She frowned at me, and sat down. ‘I can’t drink coffee anymore,’ she told me. ‘Happens when you’re made of wax.’ 

“I just sort of nodded. Like, I heard that she said ‘made of wax,’ but it like… drifted off of me. I was like, rooted to the spot. Paralyzed with fear, I guess. 

“‘It isn’t personal,’ she told me. ‘It’s a bit like… a revenge mission. See, once upon a time, an archivist broke my heart. But, I was so far gone at the time, that I barely felt it. And somehow, that was worse. So I’m repaying the favor, I suppose. Besides, it only gets worse from here. In a way, I’m saving you. Giving you the easy way out.’ 

“Then she smiled at me and left. And that’s when I smelled the smoke. I don’t know exactly what happened after that. I woke up in my bed, coughing. Jon was standing over me, fussing. He told me… he told me that he knew I was in danger. That he felt it. Apparently, he got there a few minutes after the woman, Jude Perry, he told me, left. He had knocked down the door and pulled me out of the fire. But  _ Charlotte’s _ was gone. 

“Jon was angry, of course. Angry that I hadn’t told him what was going on before it was too late. He was angry at himself for pulling me into everything. And he was sad, too. He didn’t tell me that part, but I knew. The one part of his life that was normal was gone. He took care of me for a few days. I was burned up a little, but nothing that I wouldn’t heal from. He insisted I stay in bed longer than I actually needed to. 

“And then he left. I think that he thought he was being noble, but really he was just being a dick. Cause I knew he wasn’t really gone. He was watching me. I could feel it. Feel him. Everywhere I went, it was like there were… ants on my skin. I wondered if he could do anything else or if he was spending all of his energy just watching me. I started finding tape recorders in my flat. I called him and texted him and called him and texted him and screamed at the tape recorders until my neighbors complained but… nothing happened. 

“Which brings us to today, I suppose. I had just gotten out of my meeting with the insurance company. They suspected foul play. They were going to launch a full investigation. But I didn’t really care. My life was sort of ruined. Everything I had worked for… literally up in smoke. And to top it all off, my boyfriend wasn’t talking to me. So I decided to march up the Magnus Institute. I would extract his head from his ass with my own two hands if I had to. But I didn’t make it that far. Obviously. The last thing I remember is walked up the steps. You know the rest better than I do, I suppose.”

“Statement ends.”

**SOUND OF HEAVY BREATHING, AND THEN THE LOUD BANG OF FISTS SMACKING AGAINST ARMRESTS. **

“What… what the  _ fuck _ was that. _ What the fuck did you do to me?!” _

“Mr. Blackwood, honestly.” 

“That’s not–that’s not okay! That’s private–it’s–”

“And what did you think your boyfriend was doing to people? Giving them free therapy sessions? Ah, speak of the devil.”

SOUND OF DOOR OPENING. 

“Martin–”

“Jon!” 

“Are you… did he tie you up? What the hell, Elias? What did you do to him? Come on Martin, let’s get you home.” 

“Of course. Take him. Although, I do expect you here tomorrow at nine, Mr. Blackwood.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“For your first day of work.” 

**SOUND OF PAPER RUSTLING. **

“What the hell is this?”

“I didn’t sign that. I don’t remember signing that.” 

“Oh, you were so enraptured in telling your tale that you barely noticed me sliding it in front of you.”

_ “Elias–” _

“I thought that you would be happy, Jon. All your things in one place. Much less energy exerted this way. And I’m sure he’ll get along so well with the others. Ms. King, Ms. Hussain, and Ms. Tonner could use with a… softer edge, to balance them out.”

“You’re just as much of a bastard as he said you were.” 

“Now, is that any way to talk to your employer, Martin? Can I call you Martin?”

“No, you may not–”

“Jon, please. Besides, what else were you going to do? It isn’t as if you have many other job prospects.”

“Ignore him, Martin. We’ll… figure out a way out of this. Let’s just go, and you can tell me what happened.”

**SOUND OF DOOR SHUTTING. **

“Follow up. 

“Martin Blackwood is obviously touched by the web, though it’s unclear in what way. He’s a distraction from Jon, pulling him back from realizing his true potential. I doubt it will be as easy as just killing him, but I’m sure that I can figure something out. It might be useful to consult Peter for ideas? Regardless, it is best to have him here, where I can… keep an eye on him, so to speak.” 

**LAUGHTER. **

“I will say, our Archivist has good taste. End recording.” 

**RECORDER CLICKS OFF. **

**Author's Note:**

> title is a poem by emily dickinson that is a Big Whole Jon Mood. anyway, this was a quick thing that i wrote to procrastinate writing other things i was supposed to be writing. i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> i'm on tumblr @ipretwins, come talk to me about the magnus archives cause this podcast has consumed my life. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hollows Round His Eager Eyes [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215297) by [Cryke_Audio (Crykea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crykea/pseuds/Cryke_Audio)


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